BORDER INCIDENT, 1998 -- "CANADIAN BACON"

this morning i had an interesting incident. when driving across the
border, the fat man in the border control booth asked me if i had any
mace or pepper spray. "if you have any, then it's no problem at all,
as long as you declare it. if you have some and haven't declared it,
then i can give you a $500 dollar fine."

simple so far. i'll be a law-abiding citizen and feel good about it.


"yessir, i have a bottle of pepper spray."

now i look at the guy and his smile has been replaced by a stern,
scolding look and a slow nodding of the head. "take this form and
give it to the man inside. "

(pointing to a side parking lot) "pull her on over here, boy..."

i parked my car and walked into the adjacent office. i handed
another fat canadian my form. "oooh, what we got here? a texas boy?
long way from home, eh boy?"
i didn't understand where this guy's tone of voice came from. this
was the second time within two minutes that a canadian officer (i like
to call 'em canadian bacon) had called me 'boy.'

now a burly, butch chick grabbed my arm. "where's that pepper
spray?" this lady obviously saw me as a threat to the greater good of
canada. she clawed my arm with dirty fingernails. dandruff was
visible on the shoulders of her heavy green jacket.

i handed her the pepper spray. she wasn't done with me yet.

"let's go out and take a look at that car, shall we?"

when i got back out to my car, there were already three slabs of
canadian bacon searching the front and back seats.

"ok boy, have a seat on that bench while we search the car. i need
your keys."

i was still willing to cooperate because i knew that i had nothing to
hide.

ten minutes later, shivering badly, i approached the car to grab a
jacket. this startled the officers and they reacted as if i had
approached with a machete or shotgun or something.

"BACK AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE!! NOW!!!"

"i just want my jacket, maam."

"I DON'T CARE!! ON THE BENCH!!"

i sat back down. ten minutes later, i really had to go to the
bathroom. i stood up, stretched out, and started towards the bathroom
about 10 feet to my left.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING BOY!! SIT THAT CABOOSE DOWN ON THAT BENCH
PRONTO!!"

i couldn't believe this bitch. she yelled like an assistant football
coach, she had the brains of a high-school counselor, and she did it
all in the name of the law. bureaucrat.

"i'm going to the bathroom maam. i really have to go."

"YOU DON'T GOT NUTHIN TO DO BUT SIT YER LITTLE BUTT BACK DOWN ON THAT
BENCH!!"

this whole time, the officers were going through every one of my
possessions. i saw them examining my box of powdered milk. they
tasted it.

(not cocaine. ok. move on to that thar sack of bananas. )

they actually sniff the bananas.

(smells ok. where did this kid stash his stuff? a-ha, the trunk)

they open the trunk and start pulling out my dirty socks and
underwear. within a minute, all my stuff is lying on the pavement.
and still nothing.

now they discover my notebooks. they start reading the notebooks,
going through page by page. they're actually reading the stuff. at
this point i stand up.

"what are you guys doing?"

a canadian officer, with faceful of fat and razor cuts, barrels over
to me, reeking of cheap after-shave.

"Nobody asked you to say anything, did they?"

"they're searching through my stuff"

"I know that. That's fairly obvious. Yes, there they are." He
points to the crows of officers, now 5 in number. "I see them right
there. And yes, they are searching through your car. All Standard
Procedure."

"but what for? i don't understand why this is happening?"

"You trying to hide something? What are you trying to hide from me,
boy? I know there's something. I seen you over there on the bench,
shivering like some freak. I seen you squirming around. (i really
just had to go to the bathroom) What are you so nervous about?"

"nothing. i just don't understand what's happening."

"It's just Standard Procedure around here, boy."

that didn't clear anything up for me.

"why are they reading through my notebooks?"

"Oh, I see. You got some sort of secret information in those
notebooks."

"no. it's just my journals."

"Well, if it isn't secret, then you won't mind us checking through,
will you? Besides, we need to check through everything. Standard
Procedure."

"standard procedure?"

"The Way We Do Things."

"you always read through people's journals?"

"What does standard mean, boy? Think about it. Or didn't they
teach you how to do that at your college down there in Texas?"

i had nothing to say to this imbecile. the situation had gone out of
control. i had nothing in the car that they could get me for,
though. i was safe.

or so i thought.

"Boy, you the registered owner of this car?"

"yeah, i think so."

"What do you mean, YOU THINK SO?"

"well, it's registered either to me or to my dad. we have the same
name."

"I just called in you vehicle's license plate and nothing came up.
WHY do you think that is?"

i really didn't know.

"umm, i'm not sure."


"Well, I got my suspicions. Are you sure this car is yours?"

"yes, of course. " (shocked, surprised) "what are you trying to say?"

"I'm just wondering if this might be a STOLEN CAR. So, is this car
stolen?"

he just came out and asked me. pretty stupid of him to ask. if i
had stolen it, i wouldn't tell the guy.

"NO. i have the insurance to prove it's mine. " i pull out my
insurance card. "see, the VIN # on the card matches the one on the
car."

"That doesn't mean anything to me. If I wanted to, I could insure a
stolen car."

this guy. oh man.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you steal this car? DID
YOU?" His nose is right at my forehead. The steam of his breath
condenses on my cheeks. He stares straight at me, looking for
flinches, uncertainty.

"NO IT IS NOT" i manage to get out a stiff sentence. i think that
the only way to get this guy's respect is to speak like i've got
something up my ass.

"You - had - bet - ter - hope - not - boy" with each syllable he
pokes my chest with a fleshy finger.

i sit back down on the bench and this fucking pig waddles back over to
my car.

after another 10 minutes of searching, the guy comes back over to me.


"Your car's clean. There's nothing I can do to you. But I smell a
rat." he stops and wheezes a deep, rattling breath "Remember, people
are watching you. Remember."

i walk back to my car and the butch bitch hands me my keys. "Have a
nice day!" she says. with some terrible attempt at a smile. close
enough for government work, i guess.

starting the car, i speed across the isolated parking lot's cracked
pavement which, minutes earlier, had been covered in my dirty laundry.

i look ahead and see a sign "WELCOME TO CANADA"